How long is this week, anyway?

I swear, this week feels like it's ten freekin' days long! It just keeps going and going . . .

I'm too pooped to even make smart-ass comments about stuff, so let me just say this about that:

You know how you go to these websites, and they have those paid ads at the top or on the corner or somewhere? So I'm on some site the other day, and this one ad is for a company called English Laundry and it's advertising clothes inspired by Paul McCartney and John Lennon.

So I'm thinking, okay, I'll bite, and I click over. And there's shirts and stuff, like this:

Now maybe it's just me, but when I look at this shirt, it doesn't scream "JOHN LENNON!" you know? I mean, I get artistic and I get influenced and all, but I'm just not feelin' this.

Hey, good luck with your company, I'm sure it's a nice quality shirt, more power to ya, but . . .

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And here's Lindsay Lohan from a recent issue of FHM Russia, not looking photoshopped at all, as I note that she celebrated her release from the living hell of house arrest by getting, literally, falling down drunk the other night.

I'm sure that was just a one off, nothing to worry about, she's totally on the straight and narrow now, for sure . . .

Sports and such

The Lightning made a good move yesterday and signed Dwayne Roloson to a one year deal for $3 million. That buys them some solid goaltending while they see if Smith is going to step up to the next level or one of their junior guys will actually be the next big thing.

They're still haggling with Stamkos though. With no details leaking out, I wonder where the sticking point is. I'd hate to think the kid or his agent is pushing for some unreasonable deal. I know he had a breakout year with the Bolts, buy you'd think there would be some loyalty at play after last season.

The Rays gagged another stellar outing by James Shields who struck out 10 in a losing effort as the Reds won 4-3. With Boston losing Dice K and possibly Lackey to Tommy John surgery, the Sox ought to back up a truck full of money to the Trop and pick up Big Game to fill the roster.

I mean, the local sportwriters, who as we know are the most knowledgable people in the world of athletics, have been saying all year that the Rays should trade the 3 complete game shutout pitcher for a couple of unknown prospects. So . . .

And, speaking of Boston, the Sox finally got back in the win column with a 5-2 victory over the Phillies as Lester notched his 10th win and the ageless Tek hit two home runs from the 5 hole. Running out of superlatives to throw at Varitek . . . just amazing!

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And because we always love us some Tiz, here's Ashley Tisdale getting her naked on in a recent issue of Allure magazine:

Gotta love neighbors

So I'm sitting at home last night after work and someone knocks on my door. This usually aggravates me, because once I'm home -- I'm done. Don't call, don't bother me . . . I just want to relax and unwind.

But it turns out to be a couple of young dudes that work for a tree trimming service. And this is really timely, because I've been getting really fed up with how all my neighbors have trees growing into my yard and messing things up. And for some reason, all you have to do is re-roof your house, and trees go into growing overdrive and head right for the virgin shingles.

Anyway, I walk the dudes around the yard, tell them to cut away to their hearts content and get this nonsense off my property.

I get home tonight, pay the guys and we're standing around b.s.ing about stuff. The one guy tells me that my neighbor behind me saw the tree guys trimming his overgrown oak off my powerline and getting his cherry laurels off my property and talked to these guys about cleaning his tree mess down to size!

?!?

For years, every time we had a storm or a hurricane or something, my power went out because this douchebag wouldn't trim his effin' trees out of the powerlines. I finally spring to get something done, and now he's all big on cleaning up his property!

I guess better late than never, but come on . . .

When does the tease become something else?

A taunt, perhaps?

My friend at work, a female friend, and yes I do have a couple, showed me a magazine cover today. And she's saying how much she loves this chick on the cover.

I've said before that I don't find Katy Perry all that annoying. Certainly not as much as most celeb bloggers who rag on her endlessly. Her music is decent -- fairly generic pop. And her image? Well, that's where we're going tonight. Here's the picture:

Yeah honey, I got it. You've got boobs. I haven't met a girl yet who doesn't. But Katy's thing is to relentlessly showcase them in daring outfits that seem on the edge of a wardrobe malfunction. Which is the point, of course.

And that's my point -- nothing's going to happen. Ever. Because she goes to great lengths to ensure that nothing slips out. It's a tease, you see. And with Katy, a neverending one. Because there's no payoff on the horizon.

If you go back and look at films of the old burlesque routines, the gals had a lengthy number where they slowly took off their clothes. Of course in those days, as Cole Porter said -- "A glimpse of stocking, was something quite shocking." or words to that effect. But at the end of the performance, as the dancer was slipping off stage, the audience would get the slightest peek at the lady's body. It wasn't much, but is was some payoff.

In Katy Perry's case, there will never be a payoff, because underneath it all, she's only pretending to be a hoochie. And that's when I begin yawning.

There is another gal at work. We've been attracted to one another for years. But she is married, so nothing is ever go to happen between us. My marriage broke up because my wife cheated on me multiple times on multiple levels, and I would never put anyone else through that.

But this gal at work is a flirt. Big time. She wants the guys, all the guys to notice her. She dresses to be noticed. And to her credit, for a 50 year old woman, she can rock the sh*t out of a pair of tight hip-huggers.

So we've had this "Where's Waldo?" flirtation thing going on for years between us. But as I pointed out to her recently -- why? There's never going to be any payoff for the flirting, so why are we bothering?

Because it feeds her ego, that's why. She knows that men are watching her, checking her out, and it makes her feel attractive and desireable. But to me, this is where we cross the line into taunting. She spends all day giving me the bedroom eyes, and the soft voice, and suggestive comments, that lead to . . . nothing. At the end of the day, she goes home to her husband, and I go home to my empty house.

Seems a bit cruel and self-centered to me.

And that is what I see with Katy Perry -- look at me, notice me, pay attention to me, . . .

And in the end, Katy gets . . . more hits on her webpage, a higher google ranking, more celebrity, etc. And what do you get? The same thing I get with my flirt at work -- the feeling of being used, and nothing else.

That's why, when my friend showed me the cover with Katy on it, I had to disappoint her by saying it didn't do anything for me. She didn't understand why, but if you're reading this, perhaps you will.

Update:
So the flirty gal at work is now having an affair. And guess who it is not with? Granted, I wouldn't have anyway -- I don't do married, but still. No, some random grease monkey came into the office, gave her a wink and a smile, and she was hittin' his sh*t in about two seconds.

Go figure.

So Huntsman is in . . . is Rick Perry?

So I see where former Utah governor John Huntsman has officially decided to run for President. It's getting to be pretty crowded for the upcoming debates.

I don't know a lot about him, gonna have to bone up a bit. I know that, from a fiscal standpoint, he did some good stuff as gov of Utah. He's also picked the wrong side on a few things -- global warming, Obama as a wonderful executive, etc. Things he's already begun to walk back. And he'll have to do a lot of dancing to cover. Though hearing him speak, he's a polished politician, so I've no doubt he can talk his way through various change of heart scenarios.

He reminds me, at first glance, of Mike Huckabee, whom I supported in the '08 primaries. I personally like former governors for the presidency as they've actually had to run something, not just sit around in committee and vote "present" like our current chief executive.

Oddly enough, that was conventional thinking until Michelle Bachmann got into the race. Now the same conservative pundits who championed the desireability of former governors, now dismiss that in favor of lifetime senators who they say have the preferred resume.

Guess it depends what horse you're backing.

Has Rick Perry decided to run? He's talking the talk. And I know that some conservatives are pointing out the flaws in his resume already. Like I said -- lots of homework to begin. And I don't think we're done with people jumping in this race as President Obama looks more beatable every day.

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And just 'cause she's fairly wamdigeous -- here's Lucy Pinder testing the tensile strength of black tape of some kind:

Tom Jones? Yep, still a douchebag.

Local sports tool, Tom Jones, the same jerk who said the other day that even if Kevin Youklis didn't mean to clip Casey Kotchman, it was good to see him drilled with a fastball, follows up with another winner in the Monday edition of the St. Pete Times.

Writing about former Rays now Red Sox player Carl Crawford, Jones says:

"No one should root for an injury, but I'm guessing not too many Rays fans were broken up when they saw Carl Crawford go on the disabled list with his .243 batting average."

C.C. spends nine years busting his hump for the Rays, and now that he's with the Sox, this *sshole is grinning because Carl tweaked his hamstring?!

I've said this many times before, but the Times has some of the biggest jerks and know nothings in the sports reporting business.

Father

I've been blogging for about 7 years now, off and on, and I've tried for seven years to write this post. I'm going to try once more.

My father was, quite simply, the greatest man I have ever known or will ever know. He was my mentor, my best friend, my buddy, my idol.

He was truly a genius. An inventor, a tinkerer, a builder of anything he put his mind to -- from restoring a 1964 Corvette to building an airplane in our garage (from the actual forming of the fusilage pieces!), he was a creator.

That you are reading this post is directly responsible to his mind. My father created the prototype for plug-in electronics. Back in the 60's, electronics were all hard-wired and vacuum tubes. Working for a company in St. Petersburg called ECI, who did a lot of government work for the military, my father solved the problem of how to reconfigure radios quickly for the AWACS planes. As they couldn't do delicate soldering bouncing around at 30,000 feet, the airmen needed a way to reconfigure their radios and electronic devices. Dad envisioned, then built with his own hands, a modular system of individual components that could be taken apart and rearranged. Unheard of at the time. And now everything, everywhere uses this seemingly obvious design.

He designed and built equipment for the Saturn and Apollo missions for NASA.

And all this from the humblest of origins. Growing up during the great depression, he lived in a section of Pittsburgh called the Hill District. An area so tough that the police wouldn't come in there without a squadron of cars. He carried a gun to school at the age of 12 in a homemade holster. In fact, even at that age, he did his own gunsmithing! He ran with a gang in Pittsburgh they nicknamed the Fourty Thieves. Talk about a tough upbringing!

His father falsified his birth certificate to get him into the Navy underaged, and he was there for the entirety of WWII. The horrors of that war scarred him for life. As a child, I listened to his incredible stories of tragedy, and the occassional comedy, that he endured.

But that he endured tormented him to the end of his days. With the exception of one, all his friends died in the war, and Dad never forgave himself for surviving.

Like all true geniuses, Dad was beset with demons. And his experiences in the war just empowered those demons exponentially. He fought two long battles with alcoholism in his life. Not the sissified stuff you see in movies or hear your friends talk about -- "Oh, I get drunk every Friday night, I'm such an alcoholic!" No, I'm talking about 3 and 4 week benders. Cases of vodka consumed as the only beverage. Then two weeks of wretching sickness afterward as his body fought to recover.

But when the time came that he knew he had to quit for the sake of his family, he quit. Just like that. No poker chips. No crying confessionals. No weepy "I'm an addict" bullsh*t. Just a man saying enough's enough.

That's the reason why I have little sympathy for those who say they can't beat some addiction or behavior. You can beat it if you want to. My father did. Same thing with the whining about how someone's upbringing dooms them to a certain life. You can get over it if you want to. My father did.

He was one of those people who would literally give you the shirt off his back if you needed it. I cannot recount how many times he gave stuff away to friends without a moment's hesitation. We had a friend of my mother whose car blew up on her. Dad and I hop in our car and we're off to Virginia to give this woman our car. We fly back and go buy another used car for us to drive. There wasn't any question it was the right thing to do. Someone was in need -- we gave. End of story.

In the end, mom and I in the waiting room outside the ICU. I've worked in and around hospitals and their folks long enough to know what I was listening to. Over and over they coded him. The doctor came out and told us that he had the will to live, but that his heart wouldn't keep going. In the most perfect epitath ever written, though unintentionally, my father died because his heart was too big.

And I had to give the order to pull the plug. On my best friend. It haunts me to this day.

When my sister flew in after, we sat on his bed. I layed my head in her lap and cried. I said all I ever wanted was for him to be proud of me.

I don't know now, if I were to see him today, that I could look him in the eye. I feel like such a disappointment. He set the bar so high . . .

My sole accomplishment in this life is to have brought my son into the world. With any luck, I've set his feet on the path. I see so much of my father in him. And that pleases me. If he's only half the man my father was, he'll be twice the man anyone else on this planet is.

I know dad would be proud of my son. And that pleases me too.

I love you dad. And I miss you.